The Footstool, Aoraki National Park

5^th September-8^th September

The weekend after my return to Dunedin was coming up. The Southern Alps were to continue experiencing amazing weather and Danilo (Italian turned Kiwi who is well versed in the wild of the South Island) was scheming up ideas for his weekend. Some of his trips were partner dependant. I was keen to join but was also committed Friday night to a potluck. Upon hearing my interest and dilemma, Danilo suggested we do a two-day trip: the couloir on The Footstool. The what? Danilo handed me the guidebook. It’s a lovely 2764-meter mountain in Aoraki National Park that can actually be done in two days (unlike other peaks in the area which take 3 or more, without helicopter support of course). It stands upon the northern shoulder of the dark and intimidating Mt Sefton (3151 meters).  From carpark to Footstool’s summit it’s about 1900 meters with a mellow trail, a cobbled riverbed, slopes with tussock, snow and loose rock, and crevassed glaciers in between. Upon glancing at the guidebook and a picture of Footstool, I was in.

Sefton to the left and Footstool to the right.

 We returned from Debbi and Tim Lewis’s place Friday night at a reasonable hour for our big weekend ahead. We awoke early (not quite alpine early, maybe 4:30 AM), loaded the car, picked up two others (a young Swedish woman, Hana and Jonas, Penzy’s Swiss partner) and drove to Aoraki National Park. It was during a fuel stop on this trip that I received the call from Nate, informing me that he had X-rays done on his heel and his foot was broken. I was distracted that day from our mission, until I decided I needed to get a job ASAP, Danilo said we could stay longer at his place, and I managed to get a hold of a friend who gave me contact details for a possible job. Content with having a basic plan for the next couple months, I turned the phone off for the weekend.

We stopped in at the Mount Cook DOC center to see if we could gather information about recent conditions on Footstool. The woman at the counter handed us a huge binder with notes from climbers and rangers on the conditions of various mountains in the area from this past year. Turns out no one had climbed Footstool this year. A note mentioned that a large schrund had opened up at the bottom of the couloir, that may make the couloir inaccessible for part of the year. This news didn’t deter Danilo, who noted we will have a look for ourselves, and if need be we will go the easier route.

The coulior is just within the shadow
left and below the peak

We arrived the road’s end in Hooker Valley a little before lunchtime. It was sunny, clear and calm. Just down the valley on the Western side I could see our goal, which was not merely a bump on Sefton’s ridge. Above the steep glaciers towered a 70-90 degree triangular face with a sharp ridge traveling off to the south; all still covered in snow. I could just see our couloir route hidden at the edge of mountain’s shadow. My eyes however kept being drawn to Sefton, with its dark sheer faces beneath broken glaciers. A drastic, stunning peak to say the least. Might need to return and tick it off later.

We set out on a mellow graveled trail. In less than an hour we veered off the track near a moraine wall and began to navigate our way through bush and a cobbled riverbed. Soon we were following cairns up a ridge. We had lunch maybe halfway up the ridge from Sefton Bivy. There was a lack of flat spots, so we made do with carefully placing our packs and ourselves amongst the tussock on small shelves of dirt.

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I would like to take moment here in my normal ADD fashion to tell you that I’m writing most of this blog from the comfort of Homer Hut with a woodstove burning hot behind me (drying my hand-washed laundry). Once again, alone on a rainy day, but this time in the middle of Fiordland National Park and far from any bars or people (probably 30km). Outside is like a monsoon and the dry riverbeds you drive through to get to the hut have filled with water-ankle deep or more. In fact, there are now two rivers where there were none this morning. I am being flooded onto very small island of moss, trees, and gravel upon on which the minimally solar powered alpine club hut stands. Waterfalls are raging down everywhere on the 1500+ foot granite cliffs that surround my temporary home.

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On our journey up the ridge we paused to listen to the cracking and rumbling coming from Sefton. Occasionally we had glimpses of giant chunks of ice tumbling down past the cliffs, with a trail of snow just behind. What a temperamental sounding mountain. Eventually we put our crampons on and started up a short steep ramp of snow to the right of a crumbly rock step we would have otherwise had to climb. We saw a couple of skiers navigating down the glacier on Footstool. If I hadn’t heard the sound of their skis scraping icy snow, I would have been envious.

Sefton Bivy and one of the glaciers behind it.

Just as the sun began to fade (somewhere around 5ish), we arrived at Sefton Bivy; the roof stuck out about half a meter above the snow. As we approached we could see the water container and entrance had been kindly dug out by previous visitors. Before the light was gone we examined our route and discussed our plan of attack for navigating the glacier and then the schrund for tomorrow morning (which would all have to be done by headlamp). We then started cooking dinner and organizing gear. Water bottles were filled with hot water and we were cuddling with them in our sleeping bags by 7:30. I’m fairly certain I managed to fall a sleep before 8 pm.

Looking back halfway up the
the first pitch.

Daybreak and looking up at the couliour
and the crevasse below it.

My watched beeped too soon. Before 2 AM we were working our way out of the sleeping bags and boiling water for warm breakfasts and tea. In less than an hour we stepped our way up the icy snow, only hearing the crunch of the crampons. We had only the light of our headlamps and we tried to navigate our route based on how the ground dropped or rose around us; always trying to stick to the ridge to avoid navigating the crevasses in the dark. Soon however, we started to see the giant cracks in the ice that formed dark cavities. Our progress slowed as we tried to find our way in the dark. Eventually dawn began to break and we could see the coulior in front of us, along with the schrund. I was happy to finally have some light stronger than my headlamp; navigating a glacier in the dark was eerie, even when I was at the back of the line. As we approached the base of the couloir we were almost turned back by a exceptionally long crevasse. After some searching and cautious testing Jonas found a small, angled, tiered bridged for us to cross over one at a time.

Finally with the mountains glowing purple and pink in the morning light, we were at the base of the couloir. I tied in with Danilo and began leading, while Jonas and Hana went as a team and Jonas took their leads. All the way up the couloir we intermittently post holed, kicked steps and front pointed. On a couple of pitches Danilo snagged the lead. In the mean time I thought about how nice sections of this couloir were for making turns.  I would have to carry the skis up 1000 feet on my back before I could even put them on my feet.

A Top the Footstool looking West/Northwest

The cream of the coilour was the final pitch; solid, sustained alpine ice. Jonas had done the route finding before us, and was so kind as to dig through the small cornice that had formed at the top and to cut large steps in the meter of vertical. I was very thankful when I planted my two ice axes over the top and lifted my head above to find a narrow ridge with a steep drop on the other side. I carefully pulled myself on top, trying not to slide off the ridge in either direction. It was a techy ridge walk to the dip before the final climb to the summit. There Jonas and Hana waited for us. I was anxious to go for it was well past noon and the sun was beating down relentlessly on the Northern aspects- which was what we were to cross on our way down. I waited as Danilo went to the summit, taking a moment for myself to admire the feeling of being on top of the world and taking pictures in an attempt to capture the moment.

Once Danilo returned we were off , heading down and around the corner to find a steep snow face below rippled rime ice. A quick glimpse around showed no easier route. With a step into the punchy snow, we new it was not something we could protect or linger on. With every person for himself or herself because time was of the essence, we traversed the slope as quickly as we could.

Danilo crossing the Northern
rotten slope

Clouds rolled in making the descent challenging to find, but luckily we found footprints that led us in the right direction. With clouds moving in and out, we worked to follow the steps (and not lose each other), occasionally losing the faint prints and spreading to re-find them. Eventually they formed in a continuous path and in the intermittent white out conditions this helped us to navigate quickly across the lower glacier.

We arrived back at Sefton Bivy sometime after 4 PM.  We had a long break where we ate, drank tea and packed up the gear we had left there. Then once again we set out, determined to at least make it to the parking lot. It was a long hike by headlamp, a silent onward trudge, and the mellow track we had started on seemed to go on forever. Finally around 11:30 PM we neared the parking lot. I was fixated on bed and picked up the pace a little. WHAM!! Right on my ass. My one fall the whole trip was caused by the one small patch of ice on the mellow track, which I failed to see with my tunnel vision.

We were all sound asleep shortly after midnight on the cement floor of a shelter at the roads end. Around 5:15 AM, with nothing to eat, we all packed into my car once again and Danilo took the first driving shift to get us back to Dunedin.

I guess it was really 2+ day mission.

It’s A Tough Job Being A Blogger

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I have to apologize to my very few readers out there: I have not full filled my promise of blogging every two weeks. I temporarily lost interest in writing once I returned to Dunedin. When I was stationed once again in a home (Danilo Hegg’s, much thanks to him), I found myself absorbed with looking for a job (which is a full time job in itself), working, catching up with friends, and catching up with Nate once he arrived. Turns out, when there’s no paycheck or grade to earn, I have a hard time keeping myself committed to blogging on a regular basis, especially when I’m no longer limited to sitting in my car on rainy days.  Lucky for you, I’m now stuck by-myself in a bar in Wanaka once again on a rainy day. So I’m facing my commitment and playing catch up.

On the bright side, you haven’t missed too from the last two plus months. Once I returned to Dunedin, not only did my blogging come to almost a stand still, but my adventuring too (well, in comparison to my first two months in NZ). Some of you may not know but at the beginning of September, I received a phone call from Nate informing me that he broke his foot. He was to arrive in New Zealand about two weeks after that…Change gears, scrap near future plans. Living out of the car climbing/tramping was now out of the question for the next couple of months.

A typical scene at work.

With this new unexpected hiccup I spent the following week searching and applying for jobs. I figured if we were gonna be stuck in Dunedin while Nate’s foot healed, I should earn some money so when he can walk again, I’ll be able to play more and work less. Turns out, finding a job that you only want to commit to for a month or two is rather hard. In the end I went through a company that sets up temporary contract work for people through various companies. The job they lined me up for? Stevedoring (according to Wikipedia, also known as wharfie, wharf rat, or dock worker). For those who don’t know, stevedores are the people who work on the wharf loading and unloading boats. For me it entailed helping to load logs onto large cargo ships. A very exciting job for about the first two hours. At 3:30 AM on my first day I stood next to my 'safety hut' (made of plywood with some metal framing) upon a dock illuminated by giant artificial lights, watching giant machines swiftly maneuvering around the wharf to move large loads of logs. I learned pretty quickly where and when to walk so I didn’t get squashed, to watch out for giant swinging cables that could decapitate me in one blow, and how to insert the cables into a clamp so I didn’t lose my fingers in the process. Once you get used to the flow and how the system works however, it becomes a boring mindless job. I counted, scanned, and wire wrapped thousands of logs in my short time on the job. At least it paid $19 an hour and the co-workers were generally friendly. It's definitely the type of job where talking to your workmates takes the bite out the boredom; just don’t get too distracted or you could get smooshed.

In those first couple weeks back in Dunedin I also kept busy with completing another grant application to fund one of my dream trips for NZ. I am happy to report that while we didn’t receive the original grant, they were very impressed with the novelty of our idea and gave us a consolation prize which was still substantial. Come February or March, Nate, Max and I will be in Fiordland looking to set the first routes (that is without helicopter support) on the walls in Poseidon Creek Valley on Llawrenny and Terror peak. Sound enticing? We’re pretty psyched. If successful, it will be my most notable accomplishment in my whole climbing career thus far.

FMC Scholarship Article

In between job searching and the grant application, I filled in some more time by volunteering to do a solo presentation at a NZ Alpine club meeting about some of my adventures in the Rockies (in the hopes of inspiring Kiwis to climb/ski in the States). Being my first presentation in three years, I spent hours in the 2 weeks before preparing. Poor Nate listened to two dry runs before finally hearing the real thing. Despite my hands shaking so badly that I couldn’t use the laser pointer for the first half, the presentation went well, or so my friends nicely tell me. I do know I got the crowd of 25+ people to laugh, so that's something. More importantly, right after the presentation I was psyched to commit to being the Hut warden at Homer between November 24^th and December 29th (much thanks to Jaz Morris for putting in a good word for me; it's all about who you know here). All I’ll be doing for five weeks is climbing, hiking, and I guess blogging, because this will be my home for those 5 weeks: Homer Hut. Ahh, yip; I scored in having free accommodation in one of the most beautiful areas of New Zealand. And it’s more enjoyable to experience such an opportunity with friends, so please feel free to visit me while I'm there.

Me leading Labours of Love at Long Beach.

Nate playing on his new mountain board.

Fear not, we did not waste all of our time on the computer in Dunners. Somehow Nate and I managed to keep ourselves relatively busy. I joined Michelle in her climbing workout routine-training properly for climbing the first time. Thanks to the workout, I ticked off one of my goal climbs-Labours of Love (24/5.12aish) in almost no time at all. Now on my way to finishing my 3-year-old bet with Dave by working 25s. Nate became obsessed with kiting just before he came to New Zealand. He brought two kites with him to NZ and within six weeks he added four more to his collection, along with a mountain board, a kite surf board, and a wet suite. I’ve gone out with him occasionally. Sometimes I enjoyed flying the kites and other times I just found myself being dragging through grass, sand, and/or water. I wouldn’t say I’m hooked yet.

We also began to have small dinner parties with friends. Sometimes we went to Dave’s to do a fingerboard workout with Michelle while we took turns cooking dinner on our breaks, and sometimes we invited friends over Danilo’s for dinner. 

Finger board/dinner session with Michelle

After long consideration and turning down some summer job/interview offers, I decided rock climbing guide work was probably my best option for short season work that wouldn’t interfere too much with my adventure plans for New Zealand. I signed up to take a rock climbing guide assessment that would certify me to guide in NZ (apparently with the new laws here, my outdoor education degree is basically useless for being even a basic single pitch guide). So some of my time at the crags in the last month was spent refreshing myself on rescues I haven’t done in years. Like climbing up on the rope to rescue a climber on top rope (a rescue I will probably never have to do) and abseiling down to an unconscious victim. At least it's all good practice for my own climbing.

Of course, before he could even walk, Nate was back to climbing. It was rather an entertaining site (and probably confusing to others) to see him crutch into a crag with a ‘boot’ on his foot and then see him leading a 25 in rock shoes. The ‘boot’ would be sitting aside his pack and crutches at the base of the crag. This discovery allowed us to sneak out of Dunedin on a climbing trip to Wanaka with a large group of friends, a mere 4-5 weeks after he broke his foot.

Well, now that your caught up on the mundane parts of my life in the last two months, I’ll take you on a couple of trips I did sneak in during that time.

Day 2 of Kite surfing for Nate.

A Brisk Walk With A Bit Of Climbing

August 30-August 31st

The morning after my interview, I was standing on the side of the road, thumb up, at the edge of Franz Joseph Township. The first ride took about an hour to catch, mostly because there weren’t many cars driving north. The good weather was continuing to hold so it wasn’t a terrible wait, except for dealing with my own impatience.

A RV filled with rowdy college students pulled a fake-out on me at one point (pretending to pick me up at first but then tauntingly rolling forward as I approached). Then 15 minutes later a man in an old truck pulled over and I was able to hop in without having to chase him down. He had gone on a drive along the coast for the morning just for the sake of it and was on his way back home. We chatted briefly in spurts and listened to the radio in between our occasional talk. On the drive, the man smoked a few cigarettes, so I focused on trying to not inhale his smoke and looking out the window to admire the views.

He dropped me off at the main traffic circle in Hokitika. As I was walking to a good hitching point, I put my thumb out when cars went by, as every good opportunist does. I was still walking when someone offered me a ride.  He was heading back to Christchurch from a weekend of visiting his family.

 He was almost the exact opposite of my last driver. Very talkative, with no shortage of stories. They were good stories too about his travel all around Australia. I listened intently as I munched on the apple turnover he had offered me (part of the large supply of food his mother was sending him home with). He’s been stuck trying to hitch hike from a few buildings surrounded by miles of uninhabited desert, hours from the closest proper town. To him, a five-hour drive to the West Coast to visit family for a day was nothing. He also took some time to describe many of the deadly insects and animals he came across during his travels. I probably should have been taking notes. I mentioned my worry about all the animals in Australia that could kill me. He assured me that as long as I don’t go around poking things with a stick like many teenage boys do, then I’ll be alright.

He ended up going about half an hour out of his way and dropped me off at my car. No broken windows, now slashed tires, and everything inside looked all in order. Sweet. I walked to the grocery store, bought some food and a bottle of wine. I left the wine at the backpackers with a note in exchange for my car keys. It was only about 3 in the afternoon and I felt like I needed to do something before heading back to Dunedin. Long story short, a few texts and a phone call and I had plans with Manu (gentleman I had met earlier that week) to go hiking and climbing on Mt Somers.

Mt Somers was a short 30-minute drive from where I was. I parked in the lot to see heaps of cars. Right, it’s a sunny warm Saturday, of course people are going to be hitting the hills. I went for a run while I waited for Manu. When he arrived, we decided to sleep in our own cars in the car park that night and head out at a leisurely hour in the morning. The sign at the start of the track noted the hike would take about 3 hours. Well, with Manu being a ranger in the summer and me Funemployed fit, we covered the trail in about 1 hr and 45 minutes. Conversation was brief and only held on the flatter bits of the trail when we both had air to talk and walk.

We crested the ridge I saw the familiar site of Pinnacle hut sitting in the wide valley, just below the features that earned the hut its name.  Rounded, pocketed limestone pinnacles protruded from the slopes. Above them, short wavy basalt walls stuck out of the steep slopes that were otherwise covered in scree or bushes

A short while later we arrived at the hut, just in time for most of the occupants to be heading down hill.  We chatted with the folks briefly and I looked around for topo drawings of the climbing areas that were here 3 years ago. With the last minute planning, we didn’t have time to get a guidebook. Unfortunately, the topos were gone (though I did find a copy of the entertaining 'Antics', a publication made by the University of Otago Tramping Club). Luckily Manu had the blessed and cursed smartphone, which helped us find information on a couple of crags. The arcing wave of basalt columns that were called the Christian Principles caught our attention (I for the looks and Manu for the name). It was one of the furthest crags but it looked like it had a couple of decent moderate climbs for Manu (who didn’t climb a whole lot). I glanced at the note that said the crag was not as big as it looks and decided it would be a fun adventure, we must go.

About an hour of scrambling up and down scree fields and on top of bushes, we finally arrived at the base of Christian Principles. I instantly learned to pay better attention to the small print in guidebooks. The wall was about half the size I though it to be from the hut.  I realized then some of the walls closer to the hut would have been preferable to this. But we were there. So we found some bolts and cracks and did some climbing. I led and Manu top roped.

My psych for climbing was high at the start of the day and rapidly decreased once we were at the crag. Meanwhile, Manu started the day with a low psych for climbing, and after struggling up the first climb remembered how fun climbing could be. His drive to climb something clean perked up and he hoped on the second route I put up.

After a couple of hours at the wall we headed out and back down to the car park with less spring in our steps than coming in. We arrived at the car park rather hungry, and despite my low climbing psych, content with the day out. We quickly loaded our cars and met in Geraldine 20 minutes away for a fish and chip dinner. After loading up on the cheap greasy meal, we said our good byes, and I hopped in the car to finally make my way to Dunedin, a mere three hours away.

High Flying Interviews

August 28^th- August 29^th

Alright, I had about a week of fun and games, now it was time to get down to the serious business of finding a job for summer. Before arriving to the South Island I had completed job applications for working as a guide on Fox and Franz Joseph Glacier. I scheduled to meet Kurt, a gentleman from Fox, for an informal meet and greet (really to show I wasn’t just an email from across the world) on Thursday. Friday I had a ‘formal’ interview with the guides at Franz Joseph. Penzy and Jonas were kind enough to detour around to the West Coast to drop me off at Fox before heading down to Wanaka to continue their ski trip.

I arrived in Fox Township (which consists of a small hotel, a motel, a café, a restaurant, the tourist guide shops, and a scattering of small homes and farms) just before noon. Right on time. It was a stunningly warm, sunny day. I had to remind myself this is rare for the West Coast. If I move here, I will have to get over having a majority of my days being rainy. Ok, Kat, picture yourself living in a town that has nothing to do unless you’re in the mountains, and remember that a majority of the weather doesn’t allow you to get into the mountains. It’ll be like living in Maine again, not CO and UT. Ahh, I’ll be good. It’s about 3.5 hours to get to Wanaka, which is a much drier place with lots of rock climbing and mountains to play in. Besides, there’s always coffee and tea to drink, a beach 20 minutes away, and as I found out later, some of the best kayaking in the world. I might end up converting if I stay here.

Pulling myself out of my mind’s tangent tornado, I walked into the Fox glacier guide office. In the same building they packed in a café, a heli-guide company, and a souvenir shop.  I asked the lady at the desk if I could meet with Kurt. Ten minutes later he came down and introduced himself. We sat down to have a very informal, and it turns out, impromptu chat outside. Our conversation sort of zig zagged through various subjects about being a guide, my needs, and living in the area. When I happened to mention that I had to hitch back to my car, which was almost on the same latitude as us but on the other side of the mountains, he offered to see if he could find a helicopter heading that way, so I might hitch a ride with them. Tempting but I declined the offer, noting I was staying on the west coast for a couple more days.

During our discussions, I learned that the company would need me to work December, January, and February for 5-6 days a week. I had been hoping for September, October, November, and maybe December. I was going to miss out on prime climbing season with that schedule. I began to doubt the compatibility of the job with my need of a balance between work and play. Though if they’d sponsor a two-year work visa for me after…that could change my mind.

Kurt mentioned at the start of our conversation that there was a heli-trip heading out to the glacier that afternoon that I may be able to shadow. That way I could see exactly what my job would look like (minus the glacier changing everyday). An hour or more into our conversation he mentions it again, noting that the trip was leaving in 15 minutes, and if I was keen he would see if there was a spot. It was after 1 and I hadn't eaten lunch yet, but of course I wasn't going to miss out so I agreed to go. He radioed in. There was a spot. I pulled what life I had with me out of my backpack put it on the table we were sitting at (not the most professional thing to do, but I didn’t have much choice). Grabbed what I needed: layers, snack and water bottle, then followed Kurt to the heli-pad. He gave me a quick rundown of what I needed to know for helicopter safety and then left me with the group and a guide. The guide luckily remembered to grab me a pair of crampons as well just as the helicopter arrived. I followed the directions of the guide, hopping in the helicopter.

Looking down on Fox Glacier from the Helicopter

We soared up to the glacier, the helicopter taking the high, scenic route. The sight of the mountains made me doubt the sense of doubt I was feeling earlier. It would be an amazing place to live. Especially if I could get up the mountains with a free or cheap heli ride.  The Fox glacier below, with seracs and boulders scattered upon it, looked nothing like it’s true size. We landed on a flattened spot in the glacier that was marked by rocks. The rest of the group was waiting nearby. The guide for our trip, John (I think), was an Irish bloke, probably a few years older than me, a little on the heftier side, and with that classic Irish red face, softened with the lilt of the Irish accent and humor.

He gave a very clear demonstration of how to put on the crampons, went over some basic safety rules, invited folks to ask if they want to investigate something, and we were off. I followed right behind him asking questions as we went. What was the length of a workday? How was it working for Fox? Were the other guides keen to get out for adventures? Etc. He paused occasionally in our discussion to explain various features in the ice to the paying clients. This was only my second time on the glacier, and I was excited to have the opportunity this time to pause and take pictures of the features in the ice.  Three years ago on Aoraki, we were in a race against time. We needed to get across the glacier before the bridges over the crevasses, some of which could eat a small house and you’d never know, softened up too much. Where we were on the Fox Glacier wasn’t very exciting. Pretty flat, with a scattering of small features to see here and there; A narrow very deep hole with a waterfall dropping into it, a couple of arches, a few small walls with tunnels you could crawl all the way through to the other side, etc. It was lovely to see the layers in the ice, the diversity of color. Oh how I wished I had a good camera to capture it. I did my best, but the camera couldn’t really pick up the subtle changes in the ice colors. The most exciting thing we went into was a crevasse you could walk right into. They had some fixed lines to be used as a handrail to guide you through spots with shallow holes that could never the less twist an ankle. Apparently it had only showed up a week or two before, and was growing rapidly.

After strolling around at a very leisurely pace for about 2 hours, we headed back to the Helipad. John asked if I was interested in the position and I admitted my concerns for my partner getting a job around here and us having time to accomplish some of our bigger missions. He understood and advised me to contact the Queenstown rock climbing company for a guide position.

Right after the flight I met again with Kurt for a little bit longer. He gave me a brief tour of the housing they provide for the guides before we said our goodbyes, noting we would both be in touch shortly. I headed to a good hitching spot to get back to Franz Joseph Glacier. About 1 hour later, after watching less than a handful of cars go by, a young French woman pulled over and I hopped in.

I arrived at the Backpackers, Chateu Franz Joseph, that the guiding company had booked me into for two nights, free of charge. Pretty hoppin’ place. Free wifi, free or cheap food some nights, big parties on the patio (oh yeah, it was college Spring Break), etc. The man at reception, when he found out I was interviewing with Franz guiding company, booked me into an empty room to make sure I could get a good nights rest before my interview.

So Franz Joseph was a much more formal interview (and in reality, I still had to do an interview with Fox if they decided to put me on their short list), or as formal as the outdoor rec world gets. I showed up in a nice button up synthetic shirt and my mountaineering pants. I chatted with two head guides when I arrived. They asked me to talk about myself and of course I told them what I thought they’d like to hear (adding that I just ran up Rolleston the other day with ease, just to put a cherry on top). Then they told me about working for the company. Their program required 4-6 weeks of training and therefore wanted about a 5- 6 month commitment from me. Again, with me working 5-6 days a week during the prime climbing season. Ouch. There are no decent crags near either town to just run up after work.

They then sent me out on shadowing a group on the Franz Joseph glacier. My 3^rd helicopter ride in my life and it was less than 24 hours after my 2^nd.  The Franz Joseph Glacier was far more featured than the Fox, at least where they take the clients. Lot of walking up and down. That being said however, unlike Fox glacier, as a beginner guide I get to do no route choosing. I just follow the predesigned track over and through the glacier, and just cut out steps.  

I got to detour from the group to chat with a couple of other guides working on the glacier. One was a woman guide who was instructed to inform me what it is like to be a woman in this industry. So she tried to give me some scenarios to explain. I interpreted it as:

“So just ‘kick the others guys' butts’ so I can earn their respect?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“Ok, I think I can handle that.”

In a talk with a lead guide, I learned the conversation was really suppose to focus more on how it is to be a woman guide when leading groups from other nationalities. Another very important point and I had some things to contemplate from our discussion.

I joined the group again just in time to catch a helicopter back to town. I exchanged some final words with the guides I met when I first arrived and then headed back to the backpackers to sneak in an afternoon run.

I had a wee bit to think about in the next couple of weeks while I waited on the two company’s decision. Within two weeks I was offered a job with Franz Joseph and a formal interview with Fox. I declined both, hoping I could get another job which would be more accommodating to our needs.

Sailing Across the Open Blue & Returning To The Southern Alps In Proper Form

August 18th-26^th

After I had some time to fatten up on Nutella my car finally started so I could make it to Emily’s that night

Day one in Wellington was devoted to calling up electrical mechanics, food shopping, and blogging. I picked up Emily after she got out of work so we could go on a trail run. Getting her was a task that proved harder than expected since I managed to miss her exit and get stuck on the motorway. After getting stressed out with city driving and managing to pick her up eventually, we drove up the steepest hill I’ve ever driven. I turned off the car, only to hear it making a fizzling, popping noise. We looked under the hood in puzzlement. We found my coolant had all backlogged out of the radiator into the storage container, filling the container well passed the max line. The strange sound was the coolant in the container boiling. I really hated owning a car. It keeps tipping my internal stress gauge into the red.

Luckily, after a run that was leisurely in pace if not in terrain, I found the coolant to be back to normal. The car started with ease and didn’t overheat on the ride home. We cooked up a quick and delicious dinner before heading off (in Emily’s car) to the local climbing gym.

The next day I left the car at the auto electrician garage, asking them to not do any work before telling me. Of course, after several hours of starting it periodically, the mechanic experiences not a stutter or a fault with my car. He lists the possibilities, noting it would be take a bit of work to figure it out. Process of elimination. In the end, at my request, he just changed the spark plugs to see if the cheap and easy fix would have an impact. I could tell from the hesitation in his voice and the fact he didn’t charge me for any labor that he doubted he really solved the problem.

I hit the road again and hoped the best. I needed to be in Arthur’s pass in a few days to meet up with my friend Penzy. I enjoyed one more night at Emily’s place and then caught the Blue Cook Crossing ferry the next morning. Just to let future travelers know, it is worth booking in advance even on a weekday for a ferry ride with a car. Buying a ticket the day of would have cost over $300 verses $169. With the lingering high pressure, I got to experience the ferry trip with lovely views that I could go outside to enjoy. We sailed out of the Wellington harbor, went across the strait, and picked our way carefully through the sounds of the south island until we arrived in Picton

I sorted out my annual backcountry hut pass while I was in Picton before I hit the road for Christchurch. My only stop was for petrol about 110km out from his place and the stop was only extended slightly by my car not starting. For the next two hours. After an hour I ended up pushing the car in neutral to the side of the gas station to not block the pumps. A man, who I think was homeless, stopped to help me before heading on his way looking for cigarette butts on the ground. It was almost 8pm, I had just set up the car to sleep in it, when I gave the ignition a couple more goes. On the last try after holding the key for 10 seconds (only hoping I wasn’t flooding the engine), the car ever so reluctantly sputtered to a start. Leaving the car running, I quickly took down the cardboard blocking my windows and hit the road. I didn’t stop until I pulled in front of James’s place. There I got to relax with a cup of tea while I chatted with him and his partner, Nina. I distressed by discussing possible trip ideas and catching up on the past 2 years.

Friday morning I brought the car to another auto electrician (this is the forth mechanic incase you haven’t kept track). He ran diagnostics (which didn’t reveal the problem), cleaned up a couple of things, and hesitantly gave me back my keys and a greatly discounted bill, unsure of whether he solved the problem. I headed west to meet Penzy and her partner, Jonas, in Methven. We left two cars at a Hostel (after asking the woman if she would keep an eye on them) and headed out in Penzy’s white Subaru, Scooby.

Looking down upon Olympus Ski Field with the
Southern Alps behind.

Saturday, we headed up to Olympus Ski Field. I was having my doubts the ski field would have any snow at all because the dirt road running up to it and some of the surrounding hills looked bone dry. Luckily, when we gained a couple hundred meters of elevation and entered a south-facing valley, we could see the ski field had just a few rock outcroppings and tussock, poking out from under the snow. While Penzy and Jonas took advantage of the nutcracker rope tows (just wait, I’ll explain), I skinned up the slopes on either side of the ski field to make a couple earned turns. It was alarmingly hot and bright out. As nice as the temps were, the snow became mush or ice, depending on if it was in the sun or shade, and I realized I was going to need a lot more sunscreen for the winter season than I expected.

Looking up at the Milky Way
through the tree at our lake Campsite.
Photo by Penzy Dinsdale.

Saturday night we camped on a lake in Arthur’s pass. It was a lovely spot but it was rather challenging packing up a tent covered in frost and ice from our breadth first thing in the morning.

We went up to the Cheeseman Ski Field where I bought a one-lift pass to the top of the ridge. From there the three of us toured across the ridge to Mount Cheeseman proper, in search for a bowl that might have snow in it. Sure enough, while smaller than we expected, we did find one with some wind packed powder. A couple runs here and we headed back to the ski field and the car.

The Nutcracker in action.

Broken River's Tram at the car park.

Monday we headed to Broken River ski field. This time, Penzy gave me some ‘buddy days’ on her seasons pass. I got to join them on the rope tows with a hired harness and nutcracker. I think I nearly pulled my arm out of socket on the first one because it was moving so fast and I grabbed it too abruptly. I’ll leave you to watch the video (Link to Nutcracker Demonstration Video ) and check out the photo to see how it works.  Upon a quick wiki search, I found out they were invented in 1939 as a faster, longer version of the rope tow (invented in 1933) that could go on steeper slopes. They are still used at most of NZ’s club ski fields, maybe at a couple in Australia, and two (Meany Lodge, WA, and Mount Greylock, MA) in the States.  I found them quite intimidating actually. And if you ever happen to have the ‘fortune’ to use one, be sure to wear a cheap pair of leather gloves. It will wear them out fast.

After getting a day to revive my ski legs with the opportunity to do laps on the slopes, I decided to take Tuesday off from skiing. Instead, I went on a mission to add a check to my big To Do List. Rolleston via Rome Ridge. We discussed the route plans the night before, working out a drop off time and pick up time(s). And how I would signal out if I needed to.

7:40 AM, Penzy and Jonas drove away from the start of Corral Track, leaving me behind. After shedding a layer and extending my trekking poles to a proper length, I was on my way at a brisk pace. Well, until I realized the track was far steeper and rooted than I remembered. It was nearly straight up 1000ish meters within a few kilometers. I quickly tapered the pace back, knowing I had a long day ahead and a long week behind. This gave me time to appreciate the dense forest I was in and severity of the drop offs on either side of the ridge.  I hadn’t noticed last time since we had been socked in by fog. The trees clung tightly to the narrow ridge, despite drop offs on either side being near to vertical.  At least when the track is as wide as the ridge, it’s sort of a comfort to know you’d have hundreds of trees to catch your fall if you managed to stumble.

Looking up to Rolleston's Lower Peak
from Rome Ridge and 'The Window'

I finally put on my crampons when I broke above treeline. The snow was still icy and firm, but from the lack of clouds, I knew it wouldn’t last. I moved as quickly as I could along the ridge. Pausing as spots that were familiar, remembering moments from my last trip that was nearly 3 years ago to the day. Despite having a lack of visibility last time, I almost instantly recognized the spot we had built our snow cave on. I believe you can filter through August or September 2011 entries to find that story.

By the time I made it to the ‘window’ which lay at the foot of Rolleston’s first peak (where we bailed last time), the snow to the North was becoming a bit too mushy for taste. My easy line started on a North-facing slope. I knew I was going to have to move fast and try to get onto the South aspects as quick as possible. And if I was to go through with it, I needed an alternative descent. I snacked while I examined the walls across from me-all South, South-East facing. I found a line of weakness that I could easily down climb. I looked at the map to see if I could get to that point. Yip, it would be no problem. Moved up the ridge, stepping lightly on the sun rotting snow and quickly stepped up onto rock and then over the edge to the southern slopes. The sharp line of the ridge marked a drastic change in snow conditions, the South was firm, just as I’d hopped.

Southern Alps from Rolleston's Lower Peak. You can just see the high peak on the left edge of the photo.

On the larger summit of Rolleston.

I enjoyed lunch on the flat and surprisingly calm lower summit. Looking at the higher summit, I contemplated if I should bother with it. I decided to at least check it out. I walked across, just below the connecting ridge, tooled up about 10 feet before deciding I wouldn’t be fast enough to get back to the trailhead in time for my first scheduled pick up. I down climbed, walked 5 minutes back down my trail, then turned around. The summit was right there, so close. “Fuck it”. I turned around and walked quickly back up to the start of the steep ridge. I tooled all the way up to the summit in about 20 minutes. Took a moment to enjoy the view and take a few photos, then headed back down. Scooted around the edge of the Crow glacier, got on my planned descent route, crossed under the ‘Window’ and back onto Rome Ridge. The light from the setting sun was just ahead of me, leaving me in shadow for the remainder of the hike. Perfect. This allowed the softened ridge snow to reset slightly before I made my way across it.

I was back at the trailhead by 5:25, 5 minutes before the first scheduled pick up. After Penzy picked me up, the three of us headed to the NZ alpine club hut, just down the road, to stay the night. We took the opportunity to shower and have a warm place to hang out. No worries about freezing our fingers on tent poles in the morning. There we met a gentleman by the name of Manu, who was studying for a NZ avalanche course. I got to talking with him, ended up grabbing his number since he was keen for some ski touring trips.

Link to Rolleston Map: http://www.topomap.co.nz/NZTopoMap?v=2&ll=-42.91742,171.520082&z=14 

Wednesday we spent at Broken River once again, doing leisurely laps on the rope tow.

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A helpful tourist map Broken River had posted on their wall. If you have moment, it's worth a read.

A Summit Of A Different Sort

August 14^th-18^th

On Thursday, the mountain was still engulfed in a whirlwind of N.Z. winter weather. The Turoa Ski Field was still closed due to high winds and the access road was closed because of snow (go figure). Meanwhile town was soaked in rain; sometimes it was a downpour. So a day dedicated to catching up on life and training. Spending lots of time in the library, trail running, and using the climbing gym during their $10 special. I hadn’t expected much from the gym since it looked like a tourist trap with the brightly colored walls, one with circles cut out for holds, another with small sections of rope sticking out, a rope ladder, and a so called “dry tooling" wall. However, it did have self-belay devices and I didn’t having anything better to do with my time that evening. I went in for a pump fest (burning out the forearm muscles) and actually enjoyed myself.

I walked out the gym to find the depressing rain had turned to revitalizing, soft quiet snow. With new excitement for the next few days, I headed to Callum’s house. I had spent about an hour in his shop earlier that day having a yawn with him and his boss. Before I had left Callum invited me to escape the rain and stay in one of the spare bedrooms at his place.

Looking back at Nick and our turns in the petite bowl.

After a morning delayed by slow clearing weather and plow trucks, Nick and I headed to the mountain for a short tour down low to keep the blanket of clouds above us. We made a couple of runs in a petite bowl just a short ways from the resort. Despite the extreme winds over the last few days, Nick found the perfect snow (minus the few rocks just below the surface). As the clouds creped their way up the mountain we caught glimpses of longer more powdery runs. We set off to investigate, only to have the clouds sweep back down around us again, so that beyond 50 meters around us was only whiteness. We had a brief lunch waiting for a clearing and then decided to head back. With the weather clearing, I camped in my car that night.

  

Saturday morning turned into a bit of a mess with some miscommunication between Nick and I. He ended up missing me and heading up to the mountain while I wondered what happened. He doesn’t care for phones very much and had actually just bought his first cell phone, but hadn’t bothered to figure out how to work it yet. I guess you can say he’s a man of action and doesn’t always take the time to double check details. I hitched just after 10 in the morning and waited about an hour and 45 minutes to arrive at the ski field, a mere 16 km down the road. We were lost in clouds almost the whole time, until we approached the bottom of the resort when we broke clear above the clouds and saw the dazzling view of a snow covered volcano towering above us.

I threw on my skis and started uphill, taking care to stick to the very edge of the groomed trail or going off track completely so I wouldn’t have an oblivious novas skier hit me head on (they were everywhere). I stopped briefly in the patrol shack to talk to them about avalanche conditions and then continued to skin up to the field above the lifts. I turned around about 200 meters shy of the saddle since I needed to switch to crampons. I was feeling my legs and I needed them to work for 2 more full days of touring. I was solo as a marched up the slope with no other tracks to be seen. As I flew down the open face enjoying large turns you rarely get in the Rockies, I saw people who'd hopped off the top lift start to make their way up the face, their interest triggered now they saw someone else test the waters for them. Keen to avoid the crowds, I headed down and hitched a ride back to town.

I stayed at Callum’s place again, along with a German turned kiwi and a Swedish couple, all of whom Callum’s roommate had just met at the bar that night. I talked with the German woman, Kath who is a keen climber. We spoke of possible climbing trips we could do in the future. Turns out, she’s planning a trip to Tasmania, a place I had actually hopped to visit while I was Down Under. Fingers crossed I get my finances straight for that trip.

Sunday morning I carpooled with Kath and Callum’s roommate to Turoa Ski Field. I looked into get a pass that would allow me to ride the lifts once to the top (to save energy for doing laps in the crater). They said I couldn’t take my skis with me on the lift, because they don’t check passes on the upper lifts so they can’t guarantee I wouldn’t keep riding them. I was tempted to say “Well I could pay you the $30 for the one ride and you can take my word that I won’t ride them again, or I can not pay anything, tour up to an upper lift and ride it anyways.” I bit my tongue.

Once again I started my tour from the bottom of the resort with 1100ish meters of vertical gain a head of me just to make it to the crater. This time however, I had Callum riding the lifts. I used my resources wisely and had him come by and grab my pack to carry it up via the lifts (allowing me to move faster and save energy). My legs felt like led as I started up the slope, making me fear I wouldn’t make it all the way. I discovered my touring technique becomes exponentially better in this state since I don't have the energy to lift my skis off the ground. As I got into a groove of motion, my stride became increasingly long and strong, my fatigue melted away. I was thankful I didn't buy a pass when I strode on by the long queues of people waiting to get on lifts.

An hour and 15 minutes later, I arrived at the top of the highest lift just three minutes behind Callum. He decided there must be an energizer bunny tucked away inside of me. Flattering except he says this as he rolls a cigarette to smoke before starting the hike up the last couple hundred meters.

I arrived about 15 minutes ahead of him. I snacked while I waited, admiring the crater bowl with steep walls, cliffs, a steaming lake, and untouched snow. I strolled back and forth on the rim, inspecting the snow and analyzing what line I should take.  When Callum arrived, step-by-step behind me, he worked to catch his breath and regain his strength, and I talked away about my thoughts, concerns, and where I thought I should go if I do drop in. He had the whatever, it’s all good attitude. The snow is solid.

Some other folks arrived just behind us, debating if they would go as well. I decided to break the ice and went for it. Without knowing what to expect, I stomped the edge to see if the snow would crack then dropped a meter down to ski cut across, testing the snow. Nothing. I took a deep breath and turned my skis down hill. Long carving turns over perfect soft styrofoam snow. Without trees or rocks as indicators, I lost sensation of how fast I was going, fumbling on a turn or two. Despite the imperfect turns, I was elated.

After Callum caught up at the base, we both turned to see a crowd of folks building up on the rim and one after another, people dropped in. The smell of sulfur caught my attention, reminding me of Nick’s warning that the volcano could potentially erupt or burp at any point and that it was a sacred place to the Maori. I was keen to not linger. Callum and I made our way back to the ski field where I snuck in one more tour up to the café before skiing to the bottom. Hitched home tired but satisfied.

That evening I dropped my skis off at Callum’s shop for repairing, headed to his place and prepared to depart right after one more adventure on the mountain. I enjoyed watching Kath and the roommate fire-dance before heading to bed.

The goal for Monday was to climb Girdlestone Peak, the beautiful pyramid to the NorthEast of Ruapehu’s proper summit. However, upon setting out for a fourth time from the road’s end, I quickly realized how tired I was. I used the excuse of reading the landscape and tooling around on a waterfall to make frequent stops. I was ready to give up when I came out of a gully to realize Ruapehu’s summit wasn’t far. So step by dragging step, I made my way up, breaking for lunch on the ridge. At the summit I paused to admire the views one more time and take pictures before turning around to make my slow way down. Even with a new lightness to my step I couldn’t compare to a decent on skis.

Looking up at the Girdlestone, the peak to the right.

Hitched back to town, grabbed my skis from Callum, said my thanks and good byes, grabbed a proper coffee, and then hit the road to Wellington. My day was only dampened when at 7:15 PM I went to turn on my car at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, a mere hour from Wellington. RADADAdadadada. I spent the next 45 minutes attempting to start the car, eating a makeshift dinner, and getting fat on spoonfuls of Nutella as I ate away my frustration.